Early Autumn/早秋
by Langston Hughes /兰斯顿.休斯
兰斯顿-休斯，美国黑人诗人，剧作家，小说家。哈莱姆文艺复兴领军人物之一。这篇Early Autumn诗歌感和画面感都很强。一直想试着翻译，总觉得形神不能兼备。今天斗胆一试，中文里加了些情绪的渲染，已经违背了翻译的第一准则“信”。至于是否“雅”和“达”，各位看官见仁见智。我是个翻译菜鸟，总望大虾们海涵一二才是。
When Bill was very young, they had been in love. Many nights they had spent walking, talking together. Then something not very important had come between them, and they didn't speak. Impulsively, she had married a man she thought she loved. Bill went away, bitter about women.
她和比尔，年轻时，曾经，爱过。
否则，怎么会有记忆中那么多
月光下的散步，和似乎说不完的话？
可是，一些琐碎的隔阂，竟成吞噬话语的黑洞。
已经记不得，谁先保持沉默的。
那些夏夜的漫步，仿佛是前世的记忆碎片，
那些曾说过的话，也已在秋天的风中飘散。
她冲动地，把她的幸福，仓促地塞到一个她本以为爱的男人手里。
他远走他乡，对女人，犹有余悸。
Yesterday, walking across Washington Square, she saw him for the first time in years.
"Bill Walker," she said.
He stopped. At first he did not recognize her, to him she looked so old.
"Mary! Where did you come from?"
Unconsciously, she lifted her face as though wanting a kiss, but he held out his hand. She took it.
"I live in New York now," she said.
"Oh" -- smiling politely, then a little frown came quickly between his eyes.
"Always wondered what happened to you, Bill."
"I'm a lawyer. Nice firm, way downtown."
"Married yet?"
"Sure. Two kids.”
"Oh,” she said.
昨天，匆匆走在华盛顿广场，她突然看到了他。
这么多年后，第一次，看到了他。
“比尔·沃克？”她试探地喊了他的名字。
他停下脚步。岁月的雕刻，让他差点没能认出眼前这个女子。
“玛丽？你，从哪儿来？”
她下意识地仰起脸，
一如多年前仰头等待他亲吻的那些夏夜。
他却礼貌地伸出了手，她握住。
“我现在住在纽约。”
“哦。”他礼貌地笑着，眉头似有轻蹙。
“一直想知道你后来怎么了，比尔。”
“噢，我做了律师，公司挺大，在闹市区。”
“结婚了？”
“当然，都有两个孩子了。”
“哦......”她怅然若失。
A great many people went past them through the park. People they didn’t know. It was late afternoon. Nearly sunset. Cold.
"And your husband?” he asked her.
“We have three children. I work in the bursar’s office at Columbia.”
“You’re looking very…” (he wanted to say old) “…well,” he said.
She understood. Under the trees in Washington Square, she found herself desperately reaching back into the past. She had been older than he then in Ohio. Now she was not young at all. Bill was still young.
经过他们身边的人逐渐多起来。陌生的面孔，
已经接近傍晚。太阳挣扎着撒出最后的惨白的余晖。
寒意，慢慢沁入身体。
"……你丈夫呢？"他问。
"我们有三个孩子。我在哥伦比亚财务办公室上班。"
“你看起来……气色不错，”
他咽下差点脱口而出的"很老"。
她却听出来了。在华盛顿广场的树下，
她极力地，绝望地，眺望着许多年前的，
仿佛有一大把青春可以挥霍的那个女孩。
她在俄亥俄州时就比他大。
岁月这把雕刻刀，真不公平，
对她格外残忍，
对他，却分外留情！
"We live on Central Park West," she said. "Come and see us sometime."
“Sure,” he replied. “You and your husband must have dinner with my family some night. Any night. Lucille and I'd love to have you.”
The leaves fell slowly from the trees in the Square. Fell without wind. Autumn dusk. She felt a little sick.
"We'd love it," she answered.
"You ought to see my kids." He grinned.
"我们住在中央公园西面，"她说，"有空过来看看。"
"一定，"他回答她，"哪天晚上有空，你和你丈夫过来吃顿饭吧，哪晚都行。你们能来，露西莉和我会很高兴。"
树叶从树上缓缓飘落。无风自落的叶。站在早秋的黄昏里，她突然有点晕。
"我们也会很高兴的。"她定了定神。
"你该来看看我的孩子们。"他微笑，露出好看的牙齿。
Suddenly the lights came on up the whole length of Fifth Avenue, chains of misty brilliance in the blue air.
"There's my bus," she said.
He held out his hand. "Good-bye."
"When..." she wanted to say, but the bus was ready to pull off. The lights on the avenue blurred. And she was afraid to open her mouth as she entered the bus. Afraid it would be impossible to utter a word.
Suddenly she shrieked very loudly, “Good-bye!” But the bus door had closed.
路灯亮了，照着整个第五大道。
清冷的空气里，绽开了一串串朦胧的晕黄。
"……我的公交车来了。"她。
他向她伸出手，"再见！"
"什么时候能……"她急急地想些说什么，
但公交车已准备驶离站台。
晕黄的街灯，在雾中，
时而清晰，时而模糊。
上公交车时，她不敢开口，
她害怕张开口，却发不出任何声音。
突然，从身体的什么地方
迸发出来很大的声音，"再见！"
车门，却已经在她身后，关上了！
………………
The bus started. People came between them outside, people crossing the street, people they didn't know. Space and people. She lost sight of Bill. Then she remembered she had forgotten to give him her address—or to ask him for his -- or tell him that her youngest boy was named Bill, too.
汽车缓缓启动。车外行人川流。
陌生的人群。穿过广场，隐入街巷。
她和他之间，隔着人海，隔着人生海海，如隔海角天涯。
他，从她的视野里，慢慢地，消失了！
她突然想起来，
她忘了给他留自己的地址，
她忘了叫他留下他的地址，
她甚至都忘了告诉他，
她最小的儿子，名字也叫作，
比尔！
________________________________________
Langston Hughes (1902-1967)
兰斯顿-休斯
James Langston Hughes, American black poet, playwright, and novelist, one of the major members of the Harlem Renaissance in the 1920s.